A Promise
by ladydirewolf1
Summary: After returning to Kings Landing, Jaime must fulfill his promise to Brienne: to keep Sansa Stark safe. Jaime never expected that the one girl he swore to protect would become tangled up in the drama taking over King's Landing.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Brienne—I know that we've had our differences, but you must trust me. After all we've been through…" Jaime sighed, glancing down at his stump. Brienne's eyes followed before settling back on his own. She, of all people, knew the pain his deformity brought him.

Jaime stayed silent as Brienne peeked around the corner of the alley, making sure they remained unheard. They had stopped just before one of the entrances to the Red Keep, hidden in shadows. Jaime had insisted that Brienne stayed out of sight—after all, the Goldcloaks would show no mercy to a known ally of the dead usurper, Renly Baratheon. Cersei had seen to that.

"Let this be the one true vow you keep, Jaime," Brienne said, turning back to face him. "I will seek out the youngest stark girl, protect her, swear to her my allegiance. I am counting on you to do the same, to protect Lady Sansa here at court."

Jaime shifted uncomfortably against the stone wall before nodding. He had every intention to protect the Stark girl… and yet he still remained unsure as to what extent his duty reached. Some wolf-girl meant little to him, especially now that he was so close to the Red Keep. To Cersei.

"Well… this is goodbye, Ser Jaime. I hope that we meet again," Brienne said softly before turning her head towards the Keep. Jaime detected a faint blush on her cheeks before her face was again masked in shadow. "To reunite the girls, of course," she added hastily.

He had known of Brienne's feeling towards him for a while now. They had spent so much time together, especially after their encounter with Vargo Hoat. He had saved her from a terrible fate, and, in return, she has nursed him after losing his sword hand. Somewhere along the road Brienne had begun to fall for him, although he doubted that she would ever admit to her feelings.

Jaime recounted one night, just a week after they had been set free from the Boltons. Jaime had been sleeping on and off all day, his body trying desperately to break his fever. He remembered Brienne coming into the large tent they shared and sitting down on his cot, placing a cool rag across his bare chest when she thought he was asleep. Brienne had traced his many scars with her fingertips, surprisingly gentle for a woman of her nature. She placed a light kiss on his fever-stained lips before exiting slowly from the tent. Jaime never mentioned the night to her, not wanting to falsely encourage her. He admired Brienne greatly, not only for her strength, but for her good heart. But that wasn't enough for Jaime, and she certainly did not deserve a crippled kingslayer.

"Of course, my lady. Till we meet again." Jaime reached down and gripped her two hands with his one, giving them a small squeeze. With that, Brienne nodded, disappearing further into the shadowed alleyway.

Jaime watched as her form tangled further into the shadows, until the only thing he could make out was the gleaming sword strapped to her waist.

I promise," he whispered as her gleaming sword disappeared from sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was well past midnight when Jaime finally entered the Keep. He had experienced some difficulty with those dim-witted Goldcloaks his sister had newly employed. The Cloaks had required so much convincing that he was truly Jaime Lannister, Knight of the Kingsguard, that he had half a mind to kill them right there on the spot. That was, however, before Jaime realized that he was useless, even against the lowliest of fighters. After finally seeing the recognition on their faces, Jaime had been allowed through the gate.

Jaime paused in the main hallway, unsure of where to go. His first thought came to his sister, Cersei, before realizing that she was probably asleep right now, and would probably not enjoy his reeking body in her bedchamber. Instead, Jaime turned left, striding silently down the carpeted hall towards his brother Tyrion's chambers. Tyrion was the only family member, other than his twin, that Jaime was looking forward to see. And, Tyrion the only one to be up at this hour, drowning in his cup.

As Jaime walked down the hall, he heard a faint whimpering coming from the room just ahead. As he got closer, he made out a girl, crying, and several other, deeper voices. Jaime stopped at the wooden door—it looked like a broom cupboard. He pushed open the door with his good hand, not anticipating the scene inside.

After adjusting to the dim light, Jaime made out four figures in the cupboard. Pressed against the wall was a girl—she couldn't be older than ten-and-six. One shoulder of her blue gown had been ripped, exposing her pale shoulder. Holding her were two men, guards, in fact, one gripping her hips and the other pinning down her arms. Leaning carelessly against the wall was a boy, absently stoking the jewel-incrusted dagger hanging from his belt. Jaime knew who it was even before making out the golden curls. Joffrey.

No one moved, even after the door had hit the wall, alerting all to Jaime's presence. The only one to notice him was the girl, who looked up, a silent plea in her clear blue eyes. Finally, after several moments, Joffrey glanced up. Jaime noticed his look of confusion, clearly from Jaime's appearance. He supposed he looked nothing more than a commoner in his current state. After glancing Jaime up and down, recognition set in. A smile slowly grew on the boy's face.

"Ah, so my brace uncle has finally arrived! Care to join in, Uncle Jaime? We were just getting started," the king said, turning his face back towards his dagger. Without looking up, Joffrey snapped his fingers. The guard at her hips tightened his grip and pushed her further up the wall while the other placed one hand on the girl's bare shoulder, using the other to rip the laces of her bodice. The guards paused, waiting for their next command.

"Joffrey, what is the meaning of this?" Hot anger flashed in Jaime's eyes at his nephew's actions. "Stop this at once! Is this any way for the king to act? To hurt innocent young girls?" Before Joffrey could speak, Jaime strode over to the girl, stepping between her and the attackers.

"Ok, ok," Joffrey said, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Way to ruin the fun, uncle." With that, Joffrey snapped his fingers again and motioned for the guards to leave. The one at the girl's hips pushed away from her, letting her drop down onto the floor.

"It is late, _my king_ " Jaime spat. "We will discuss this in the morning." He watched as Joffrey rolled his eyes and gave the girl a knowing grin before leaving the cupboard.

Jaimie walked over to the girl, who was still huddled on the floor against the wall. He still couldn't make out who she was in the dim light, but he assumed she was some common servant or other. Jaime crouched down and lifted her chin to look at him. He could clearly see the fear in her eyes. His haggard appearance probably made matters worse for her, he could look rather imposing even without being covered in grim and dirt. Jaime lifted her to a standing position.

"I am so very sorry for my nephew's behavior… he can get a little… out of hand at times. I shall escort you back to your hall, if you would show me the way," Jaime said quietly before gripping her arm and leading her out of the dark room. The hall was almost pitch-black, so Jaime relied on the girl to navigate through the keep. They walked silently, the only sound being her shallow breathing, which began to calm the further they went from the cupboard. Finally, the girl stopped outside the entrance to her hall.

"Th-thank you, my lord. For coming to my assistance. I shall forever be in your debt," the girl said, her voice think with courtesy. Before Jaime could say anything, the girl slid out her arm and fled to her hall, leaving Jaime alone in the dark.

"So much for seeing Tyrion," Jaime thought to himself. Jaime looked around, not knowing where in the large keep he was. The only marking he could see was the small banner hanging next to a nearby window. Stitched onto it, he could faintly make out a silver direwolf, howling soundlessly at the moon outside.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Sansa woke to the sound of muffled footsteps. She sat up and watched as a serving girl wordlessly crossed over her room and began to fold the torn dress from the previous night. Another girl entered, carrying a new gown to replace it. Sansa lied back down, remembering the events of last night.

It was one of the first times where Joffrey stopped short of his usual plan, after being interrupted by whom she assumed to be Ser Jaime Lannister. Sansa was grateful that the knight had arrived when he had, saving her from her usual fate. The cupboard was one of the many places where Joffrey liked to torment her, which he had started after the beheading of her father, Eddard Stark. Almost every night Joffrey had his guards drag Sansa off, usually to the cupboard or a spare bedchamber. He watched as his guards would tear at her clothes and proceed to touch and beat her. At the end Joffrey himself would take part, using his bejeweled dagger to draw lines on her body. Joffrey allowed them to do as they please, except taking her maidenhood. Joffrey said he would do that himself, once he married Lady Margaery. There was one night when Joffrey had taken her to the Godswood. When they had finished, Sansa did not know if it was her own blood, or the Great Tree's tears that stained her torn gown.

"Excuse me, my lady," a servant said timidly, walking over to her bedside. "The king has ordered a grand feast for tonight. It would please the king if wore this," she said, gesturing to the new gown. "I will be back this evening to help you dress, my lady."

Sansa would have once thought the gown to be beautiful, fit for a queen. She now knew that beautiful things were merely illusions; they brought no true happiness. The gown was crimson red, with a neckline and back dipping far lower than Sansa would have liked. Sansa nodded to the girl and watched as she left, closing the heavy door behind her.

Sansa decided to break her fast in the palace gardens, where she was least likely to be disturbed. She donned a high-necked green dress, one of the few options she had to conceal her scars. After plaiting her auburn hair, Sansa followed her well-worn path out to the gardens. Surrounded by flowers, it was one of the remaining places where she felt safe. When she stayed inside the keep, guards would freely assault her as they passed in the hallway. During the day Joffrey allowed them to do so, so long as no one of importance was around.

Settling into her usual spot overlooking the sea, Sansa broke her fast, alone. She looked over the clear blue water, imagining the magical lands that lay beyond. If only she could leave this terrible place, and live freely in one of the great cities. Sansa's thoughts were interrupted as light footsteps approached.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Jaime sat across from Tyrion, laughing at some brothel story his brother was telling. It felt good to see his brother after so long, Tyrion was the only one who could truly make Jaime laugh. Jaime had recounted his "adventure", omitting the part about Brienne. He loved his little brother, but was still unsure if he completely trusted him. He had been the Hand for a time, and surely had his own share of secrets.

Tyrion suddenly put down his cup of iced wine. Jaime turned around to see his twin, standing in the doorway. Cersei was more beautiful than he had remembered, her golden curls reached so far now that they swung gently against her hips. The Queen, forgetting her propriety, ran at Jaime, enveloping him in a tight embrace.

"My sweet, sweet brother. How I have missed you!" she said, whispering into his neck. Jaime felt her warm hand secured in his own golden hair, holding him to her. Jaime returned her embrace, and allowed himself to wrap his good hand tightly against her waist. From over her shoulder, Jaime saw Tyrion quickly stand up, his eyes darting to the door.

Knowing that something was amiss, Jaime released his twin, pushing her away. Under her glare he turned his head and saw his father entering the room.

Tywin Lannister strode confidently over to the head of the table, sat down, and rested his chin upon his slender fingers. He picked up his knife and began cutting the fried meat that was placed before him, ignoring all three of his children. After glancing to Tyrion, Jaime followed his father's cue and sat across from. His siblings quickly followed his lead, with Cersei directly on his left and Tyrion taking the seat halfway between his father and brother. They all watched Tywin expectantly and he finished chewing and set down his fork.

"I can see that you decided to return, Jaime," Tywin said as he finally looked up at his son. "At least… part of you, anyways." His father looked across at his stump, which was finally free of grim and blood, resting on the table.

Cersei's eyes followed and Jaime saw disgust, plainly displayed on her perfect face. The silence was interrupted when Tyrion let out a chuckle, causing their father to raise one grey eyebrow in his direction.

"Well, dear father, I would say this is good news! Perhaps now I will have a chance at besting my brother at swordplay! It was never really a fair fight before, father. You certainly made sure of that!" Tyrion said jokingly. Their father was clearly not amused, as he merely sighed and ignored him. Cersei was still staring at his missing hand, completely in shock.

Tywin continued, "Now that you have obtained… a disability… we cannot allow you to remain as a member of the Kingsguard. It would be a disgrace to the throne, to our house. AS you are no longer a knight, you can finally serve your destiny as heir to the Rock. We will discuss the terms later." With that, their father pushed away from the table and left, leaving Jaime to merely gape at his empty chair.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Jaime stood up, knocking over his glass in the process. Iced wine spilled over the edge of the table and onto Cersei's lap. Before Jaime could respond to her shriek, he ran out of the room in pursuit of his father.

 _He can't be serious, he cannot take away the only thing I have left._ Jaime thought as he stormed through the hallway. After climbing the steps of the Tower of the Hand, he burst into his father's study, breathing hard.

"Father, you cannot be serious about this! The Kingsguard is bound for life, remember?" Jaime spat at his father. He immediately regretted his tone when Tywin's green eyes flashed in anger.

"Actually, Jaimie, I _can_ do this. Your sister did the same to Ser Barristan Selmy when he grew too old to perform his duties. Without a sword hand you have to use to me or the king. Besides, there are more important things for you now." Tywin never raised his voice: he had no need. "The Tyrells have formed an alliance with House Lannister, one that will benefit us all. Sansa Stark has been placed aside, and Lady Margery will take her place as Joffrey's queen."

Jaime's eyes snapped up. This was the first mention of this wolf-girl he was sworn to protect.

"Mace Tyrell as agreed to this alliance only if the future of House Lannister is secured. In addition to his daughter becoming queen, he wants a stable connection with Casterly Rock. That is where you come in. You will finally take your rightful place as my heir. In doing so, you will take a bride and father children. Lord Tyrell wants as much protection as he can get, so we will obtain the girl of whichever house shows the crown the most loyalty. In the upcoming weeks, we will hold feasts and competitions to attract these houses. You will be given a bride from the winning house. The perfect political marriage." Tywin paused, allowing Jaime to take it all in.

Jaime just stared at his father. He never expected to return to his childhood home, let alone start a family there. All these years he had only been with one woman, Cersei. Jaime couldn't imagine her face if she knew that young girls would be paraded through the keep, a constant reminder of what she could never be.

"…and what of the Stark girl? Will she, too, take part in this?" Jaime had to ask, he had promised Brienne, promised Lady Stark. He supposed that if the girl was his wife he could protect her. Not that Jaime particularly cared, he didn't even know what she looked like. She was just an obligation, no more.

"Jaime, have you lost your senses? Do you really think that House Lannister would ally itself with those traitors? No, the Stark girl will not take part. She will remain here, though, as Joffrey's… hostage. What happens to her does not concern me, as long as she remains in our hands," Tywin said, waving his hand indifferently. With that, Tywin proceeded to scrawling on a parchment, singling Jaime to leave.

Jaime sighed, wondering how this "competition" would play out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

As the steps grew closer, a figure emerged from behind a rosebush. He walked gracefully in his silver-blue robes over to where Sansa was breaking her fast. Never forgetting her courtesy, Sansa rose as he stopped in front of her.

"Lady Sansa, it is a pleasure to see you. These gardens are no match for your beauty," Lord Baelish said as he reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips. His mouth lingered on her hand for far longer than Sansa thought appropriate. Petyr Baelish was the Master of Coin here at the Red Keep, among other things. Sansa remembered her mother speaking of him, of her childhood growing up with the man now known as Littlefinger.

Littlefinger finally lowered her hand from his mouth, but continued to hold it on the table as he sat down beside her. "I apologize for my absence since your father's… execution. I know how heartbroken you must be, dear Sansa."

"My father was a traitor, I have no reason to grieve, Lord Baelish," Sansa said softly, avoiding his eyes. She could feel his thumb gently rubbing her hand as his eyes roamed over her face. Sansa turned to look at him, removing her hand and placing it on her lap.

He sighed before speaking again. "Of course, my Lady. But still, you must know that you have someone at court looking out for you. This is a scary place for a young girl, a lone wolf in a lion's den."

"Then you must know, my Lord, that a wolf's pack will always return," Sansa shot back. Sansa immediately looked away in embarrassment. She knew how foolish it was to talk of such things here at court. Littlefinger merely nodded in silent agreement. They both knew that ears were everywhere, always listening.

"Anyway, I have something to tell you, my Lady. It is about the feast tonight." Littlefinger informed Sansa of the competition to be Jaime Lannister's bride, of the balls and feasts that would follow. After listening, Sansa's heart began to race.

 _Will I be forced into this competition for the Kingslayer's hand?_ Sansa thought to herself. She inwardly shuddered at the thought. Though he had been kind to her last night, he was still a Lannister. He was probably more capable than Joffrey at hurting her, as he was more than twice her age at three-and-five.

Sensing her distress, Littlefinger placed his hand on her back. "Do not worry, my dear. The Kingslayer will have no use for a "traitor's daughter" as you put it. You will, however, be required to attend the events, and play every bit the happy hostage. There will be many great houses at court, and none can know what it truly going on."

He rose, pulling Sansa up with him. Unsure of where to go, Sansa allowed him to lead her away from the table. Littlefinger took her arm, finding a path through the maze of flowers. He stopped when they came upon a stone fountain, a statue of the Maiden pouring clear water from her hands. Quickly pulling her behind the fountain, he moved his hands to her waist, locking her in the spot.

"Excuse my roughness, my Lady. I didn't want anyone to see," Littlefinger said, pressing her closely to him. Sansa could feel his hot breath on her neck. "There is one more thing, one of vital importance, about the feast tonight. No one must know, do you understand?"

Sansa nodded, swallowing down the bile that rose in her throat as he stood there, whispering into her ear.

He moved her closer, so his lips were touching her earlobe. "Tonight, at the feast, a man will ask to dance with you. You will say yes, and allow him to escort you to the floor. After you dance, you will follow him out of the hall, don't stop or speak to anyone. He will lead you to where you need to be. You will finally be free, Sansa. You will be safe. And know this, Lady Sansa. I will be watching you the entire night. I will be very disappointed if you try something. Till tonight, my Lady."

Littlefinger gave her one last look before releasing her and disappearing behind the fountain. Sansa looked around, realizing that no one would know what he had just said. The only thing Sansa could hear was the Maiden pouring water into the pool below.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Sansa paused when she heard a faint knock on her door. "Come in," she said, tying the sash of her silk robe securely around her waist. The serving girls had drawn Sansa a bath and insisted that she apply a sweet-smelling oil. After looking through the little glass vials, Sansa had chosen a herbal lemon scent from the far-off city of Lys. The smell reminded her that there was still beauty in the world, despite her circumstances.

Sansa turned to see Margaery, Joffrey's new bride, closing the door softly behind her. Margaery walked over to Sansa and picked up her hands.

"Sansa, you must be terribly excited for the feast!" Margaery said with a crooked smile that only made her more beautiful. "I heard that my betrothed got you a marvelous new gown. Let's put it on, shall we?" She said, brushing a stay curl from Sansa's face.

"Yes, Lady Margaery, it is a great honor to wear such a gown," Sansa said to Margaery's back as she got the dress from the closet. Margaery herself wore gold silk embroidered with tiny green roses. The bodice appeared to be gold itself, caging her ribs and accentuating her tiny waist. The only girl any man would be looking at tonight would be the future queen, just as Margaery intended.

Margaery returned with the gown and waited as the servants removed her dressing gown. In the looking glass Sansa could see Margaery eyeing her scars, a look of pity pinching her dainty features. Sansa stepped into the crimson gown and closed her eyes as Margaery laced the bodice. With every tug Sansa's breath got shorter and shorter as the Lannister fabric trapped her inside.

"You can look now, dear Sansa," Margaery whispered kindly, stepping back.

Sansa hesitantly opened her eyes, only to be shocked by her reflection. The crimson silk made her pale skin appear almost white, staining her with blood. The front of the gown exposed her shoulders and more of her chest than even Margaery would consider flaunting. Turning around, Sansa saw that the back dipped down to the small of her back. Sansa gasped when she realized—the gown showed every scar, every moment of torture that Joffrey had inflicted.

 _That's why he gave me this gown, to show everyone that I belong to him. Every person at that feast will see these scars, but none would dare say speak out against the King._

Sensing that she was upset, Margaery turned Sansa around to face her, cupping her face. "Please do not cry, sweet Sansa. No one will notice, I promise. The only thing they will see is your beauty, nothing else." Margaery wiped a tear from Sansa's eye before giving her a hug. She then released her to make her way to the door.

"You are so brave, sweet girl. Never forget that," she said, before swinging the door closed.

After Margaery had left, the servants continued to get Sansa ready, applying a light coat of makeup to her cheeks and lips. When Sansa began braiding her long auburn hair so that it covered her back, a girl gently pulled away her hand.

"No, I'm sorry m'lady. The king has given orders that you wear it up tonight," she said quietly, proceeding to pin and braid the curls in an elaborate updo. Sansa sighed, knowing that there was nothing she could do to cover herself. She couldn't force the girl to oblige, that would only end in pain for both parties. If Joffrey could act like he did around a lady from a great house, there was no telling what he would do to the poor serving girl.

When the servants deemed her presentable, a guard came to escort her to the feast. The great hall looked like a fairytale—not that those existed anymore. The royal table was set high above the others, golden and laden with every delicacy imaginable. Every seat in the hall was filled with the regular court-goers, Sansa couldn't imagine what the place would look like when houses form across Westeros arrived.

Once Sansa was inside she heard the great oak door slam behind her, causing every eye to turn, every instrument and singer to fall silent. Embarrassment flooded her face, causing her cheeks to flame darker than the crimson silk she wore. As she stood there, frozen in front of the doors, Sansa could see Cersei up at her table, glaring. The rest of the royal party simply stared, some grinning at her embarrassment. After glancing at his father, Lord Tyrion made a small gesture, first at the orchestra and then at Sansa, encouraging her to join them. The music immediately began to swell, signaling for the feast to resume.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Jaime had been chatting with Tyrion beside him when a loud bang echoed across the hall. Along with every other lord, lady, and servant at the feast, Jaime turned his head towards the sound. Jaime's golden fork fell from his hand, landing with a sharp clatter on the stone floor. Standing under the looming oak doors was the most stunning girl he had ever seen. She wore a blood-red gown that matched her cheeks, which were growing darker by the second. As she stood there, Jaime allowed his eyes to roam over her slight body, over her exposed shoulders and the tops of her breasts. Glancing to his left, Jaime saw Cersei shoot a glare in his direction before turning her eyes towards the girl.

"That is Sansa Stark, Eddard's daughter," Tyrion whispered in his ear before he too returned his gaze to the girl.

"I… I had no idea that she looked…that she was… exactly how old is she?" Jaimie questioned, never taking his eyes off the Stark girl. Jaime assumed that he was sent to protect a child, not a beautiful young woman.

"Ten-and-six, my dear brother. A woman grown, although that does her little good now…" Tyrion said sadly. Before Jaime could respond, the music restarted and Sansa had shyly taken a seat beside Margaery.

With every course brought out, Jaimie could sense Cersei growing angrier. Jaime reached under the table, as he had when they were teenagers, to squeeze his sister's thigh in comfort. Instead of the usual reciprocation, Cersei blatantly ignored his touch and resumed her conversation with their father beside her. Jaimie sighed, Cersei had always been a jealous woman. She hated the thought of him even looking at others, let alone holding feasts and balls in search of a replacement.

By the 9th hour the dancing had begun, transforming the hall into a swirl of luxury and lust. Lords from the capital and nearby keeps paraded their daughters and granddaughters in front of him, hoping that they would catch his eye even before the real competition began. Under the eyes of his father Jaimie danced with the ones he knew to be wealthy, and even the ones that simply caught his eye.

"My lord, may I introduce my daughter, the Lady Poppy of House Algood," said a feeble-looking lord that Jaime barely recognized. The maid was comely enough, with her dark hair and dull green eyes. Jaime escorted her to the floor, placing his newly-made golden hand on her waist.

Jaimie saw the girl recoil in disgust at his touch. "I—I am so very sorry, my lord. I must go," she said as she untangled herself from his arms, giving his metal hand a glance before disappearing into the colorful crowd.

Jaimie sighed. _This is going to require more effort than I thought_. _Next time I won't let them leave the crippled knight so easily._

* * *

Sansa had spent the feast picking at her plate, responding to Margaery beside her from time to time as not to seem uncourteous. Once Tyrion had beckoned her to the table, Sansa had rushed to her seat between Margaery and Lord Varys, almost tripping on her hem. As she passed the King, Sansa had seen Joffrey grinning, eyeing her up and down. Two seats down was Littlefinger, who had looked at her approvingly before returning to his cup.

Once the dancing began, Sansa remained in her seat, unsure what to do. She glanced up as Margaery was led away by her father. To her left, Lord Varys and Littlefinger were engaged in conversation, leaving her practically alone at the table.

"Stand up, Sansa. Maybe someone will want to dance with you," a voice whispered from behind her chair. Sansa turned to see Joffrey standing there, a cool smile playing on his thick lips. The king pulled her up, positioning her in front of him. Joffrey wrapped an arm around her waist, and used the other to begin tracing the scars on her exposed back. Sansa flinched at his touch, causing Joffrey to tighten his grip.

"Do you see those maids out there, Sansa? That will never be you, do you hear? Especially not after I'm done with you." Sansa could feel his heavy breath on her back as he inched his hand up to her chest. Sansa felt his clammy hand begin to reach under the fabric when a finely dressed man walked up. The king immediately released her, giving her waist a squeeze before returning to his seat.

"The beautiful Lady Sansa, what a pleasure it is. Would you please accompany me in this dance?" the man said. He was dressed well, most likely a wealthier knight of the Westerlands. Remembering Littlefinger's words, Sansa allowed him to lead her over to the dance floor. The man didn't speak, he merely held her as they spun across the floor. Every time Sansa faced the front table, she saw Littlefinger watching her, his fingers resting casually against his narrow chin.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Jaime paused, scanning the room of spinning ladies and lords. A flash of red silk in the corner caught his eye. Jaime pushed through the crowd, using his new hand to part through. When he finally made his way to the corner, he broke free, and the temperature seemed to drop 10 degrees from the sweaty dance floor.

 _She isn't here_. Jaime turned just in time to see Sansa being led out through a narrow servant's corridor. He turned his head back towards the ball and saw that neither his sister or father were watching, then pressed through the doorway.

After rounding a corner Jaime came across them. A knight dressed in blue and gold stood against the wall, with Sansa beside him. He wasn't touching the girl, but had clearly said something to make her stand there, frozen against the wall.

"And what do you think you're doing?" Jaime said as he approached them, placing his left hand on his sword hilt. As soon as the knight saw Jaime he darted off. Knowing that he could never keep up in the dark, winding passage, Jaime let him go, chuckling quietly to himself. If the knight didn't even have to decency to fight, he wasn't worth his time.

Jaime turned towards the girl, who still stood frozen at the wall, fear clearly displayed on her fine features. He walked to stand in front of her.

"Lady Stark, is it? Are you all right?" Jaime asked gently. As he grew closer, he looked down into her clear blue eyes.

 _Clear blue eyes?_

Realization hit him. This was the girl from last night, the "serving" girl he had rescued from Joffrey. It was Sansa Stark.

Sansa shrank back at the anger in the Kingslayer's eyes. He looked so different from last night, so like the handsome knight she had once imagined. His golden face, however, still held the same deep anger. She turned her head, and a faint whimper escaped her lips.

 _He saved me last night, but now he's going to hurt me just like Joffrey. Just like a Lannister._

Jaime stepped back at the sound, clearly confused at her reaction.

"Excuse me, my lady. I have no wish to harm you. I merely thought that you were in trouble… again."

Sansa looked back at him, embarrassed by the previous night. "I am fine, my lord. Just getting away from the feast," she lied. After dancing, the strange knight had firmly escorted her through the crowd and into the tight corridor. After several turns, the knight told her to wait. She had stood against the wall, breathing heavily, when the Kingslayer happened upon them.

She stood there as the Kingslayer considered her before focusing on a scar right below her collarbone. Sansa sucked in her breath as he gently traced it. She felt her skin cover with goose pimples as he traced slightly lower. Instead of flinching away from his touch, she leaned ever so slightly into it. It had been so long since she had felt genuine human contact. Her body seemed to crave it. With a start, the Kingslayer drew back his hand, suddenly aware of what he was doing.

"Perhaps, Lady Stark, I should escort you back to the feast," he said, taking her arm and leading her away from the wall. Without speaking, the Kingslayer led her back, stepping away as soon as they reached the great hall. It was as if no one had noticed their absence.

As Sansa climbed the steps to her seat at the table, she saw Littlefinger staring at her. His expression was emotionless; his eyes never left as she sat down. The only hint of anger came from his right hand, where he was rubbing together his thumb and forefinger, as if hoping it would calm his temper.

After returning Sansa to the feast, Jaime left the great hall. He had had enough of this feast, of complying with his Lord Tywin's plan. All he wanted now was to retire to his chambers, where no one could show their disgust at his golden hand.

As Jaime walked swiftly down the hallway, he began to think of his encounter with the Stark girl. She had looked so tempting in the servant's passage…so pure and unlike his twin. When he recognized her as the girl with Joffrey last night, a hot anger had risen in him. An anger at his _son_ , Jaime realized. An anger at the monster Cersei had allowed the boy to become. When Jaime saw those scars, he knew they were from Joffrey. Instead of recoiling at them, Jaime was drawn to them. The girl probably thought him insane, but those scars showed her bravery. Her beauty. Jaimie wanted to take her right there, as he would Cersei. But as he looked into her eyes, he saw only innocence and fear. The two qualities Cersei had always lacked.


	10. Chapter 10

_A bit longer than my previous chapters, we will see more Sansa and Jaime interaction by the end. As always, please feel free to review with comments, critiques, and suggestions!  
_

 **Chapter 10**

The following day after his supper, Lord Tywin sent a servant to Jaime's chambers, requesting that he join the Hand in his study. As he walked towards the tower, Jaime noticed the rumbling clouds out at sea.

 _Great. Even the bloody Gods are fed up with this day_.

After last night's events, Jaime wanted nothing more than to finally reconnect with his twin. The past two days hadn't allowed them a moment of privacy, and Tyrion had Jaime preoccupied all morning long with dull treasury business. All Jaime could think of, as he climbed the steps, was his sister, waiting for him in her bedchamber.

"Come in, Jaime," Tywin said before Jaime even knocked. His father's study was a rather dark place, with only washed-out sunlight coming in from a lone window. Tywin sat at his desk, writing, without so much as a glace at his son.

Exasperated, Jaime loudly scraped back a chair and took a seat, shifting nosily until he was comfortable.

"I trust that you enjoyed the feast last night. After all, it was in your honor."

Jaime chuckled, causing his father to glance up. "My honor? We both know that's not true, father. Your son is known as the one-handed Kingslayer all across Westeros. I've got shit for _honor_ and we both known it." Jaime paused, glaring at his father. "We both know that these feasts are just your way of getting power, of getting the perfect house to ally itself with us before the real war begins." Jaime stood up in an effort to gain Tywin's attention—to no avail.

"You don't care that I belong on the Kingsguard, you don't care about any of your children. You let Cersei slaughter innocents and use her son as a puppet. You ignore everything Tyrion has done for this family, all in the name of power. You never cared about this damn family, and you never cared about our dead mother." Jaime looked out at the darkening storm, breathing hard. He knew that he stuck a nerve when Tywin's eyes slowly rose up to meet his own.

"Get out," Tywin said, his voice compressed into an icy whisper.

Jaime spun on his heel, ripping open the door. As it slammed behind him, Jaime thrust his golden hand into the nearest window, his basic instinct to hurt and destroy overpowering. He felt the vibrations ripple up his arm and watched as the glass fell down to the street below, the shards blending in with the rain.

 _Cersei better be welcoming_ , Jaime thought as he strode through the hallway. After the encounter with his father, Jaime needed a release. He needed his twin in his arms, for she was the only person that could make Jaime feel complete.

Jaime ducked out into the rain: through the garden was the quickest way to his sister's chambers. As he made is way down the slickened path, he made out the sound of sobbing masked by the heavy downpour. He pushed through the brambles towards the noise and emerged in a small clearing surrounded on all sided by tall hedges.

Huddled in the corner was a red-haired girl hugging her knees to her chest. _Sansa_. Before he could change his mind, he called out, "Lady Sansa, is that you? What are you doing out here—it's pouring!" As he raised his voice above the dull pounding, the girl looked up, noticing him. Jaime saw that she was bleeding, her fine hair matted against the hedges.

Jaime ran over to her and saw the extent of her condition. She had bruises on her arms and chest, and he could see through her soaked white dress the bruises on her stomach and legs.

"He—he attacked me. After what—what I did last night. When I didn't leave with….He left me here…" Sansa trailed off, burying her pale face in her knees.

"Did Joffrey do this? Did my nephew harm you again?"

The girl merely shook her head no and continued sobbing, her tears indistinguishable from the rain rolling off her cheeks.

 _I can't just leave her here, she'll freeze to death. Well… Brienne can't say I didn't keep my promise._

Jaime bent down, scooping the girl into his arms and pressing her against his chest in an effort to shield her from the worsening downpour. Walking as quickly as possible down the streaming path, he murmured comforting words as he carried her towards the keep. Jaime stepped inside, unsure of where to take her. After her incomprehensible explanation of what happened, Jaime decided that the girl's own chambers may not be the safest place. Instead, Jaime started in the direction of his own room. Her dripping gown left a trail of rosy water on the stones below.

As he used his foot to push open his chamber door, he could feel the girl shaking in his arms. Jaime carried Sansa past his bed and over to the tiled bathing area and set her down. It was as if she had no sense of her location, no sense that Jaime was even there. She merely stood there, her slim frame shaking more and more.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sansa. I just want to help," he said, walking behind her. Jaime began to unbutton her gown, his hand surprisingly gentle. After sliding the stained fabric down to puddle on the floor, he gently urged her to step out of the dress. As if her body was moving on it's own, Sansa took a step forward, now standing in only her shift.

Jaime looked around the room, realizing that he had nothing to replace her soaked shift. He walked over to his closet, pulling out a soft linen tunic. It was more than long enough for a girl of her size.

"Sansa, here. Take this." Jaime walked back over gesturing for her to take the tunic. Sansa didn't move, ignoring Jaime and everything else in the room. Jaime knew the feeling of being so hurt that nothing on the outside mattered—he had been there for so long after losing his hand.

Sighing, Jaime walked behind and reached down to pull the shift over her head. Jaime looked down at the girl, at her pale skin laced with a web of scars. At the perfect curve of her hip as it met her slim waist.

 _I can't. Especially not when she's so vulnerable._ Jaime thought as a twinge of desire rose. He averted his eyes as he slipped the tunic over her head. Jaime picked up the still shaking girl, carrying her over to his bed. He placed her down softly and pulled the sheets up to her chin, cocooning her inside. Now that she was surrounded by the comfort of a warm feather bedspread, a peaceful expression took over her pale features. Jaime bent down, brushing his finger over her cheekbone. Lying there, innocent and pure in his bed, Jaime had never seen something more beautiful. He stood up and made his way to the plush couch by the fire, pulling a spare blanket from the closet.

Jaime looked once more at Sansa, her chest rising softly as she slept.

 _Cersei will have to wait_.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Lazy rays of sunlight streamed through the open window and bounced off a strange golden object, causing the beams to dance along the marble floor. Sansa smiled at the sight, pulling her warm bedspread up to her chin. She opened her eyes wider, curious as to what object was illuminating her chamber.

 _It looks like…like a hand. A golden hand._

Sansa suddenly sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest as her eyes darted around her room.

 _No, not my room. Jaime Lannister's._

The memory of last night came flooding back, although pieces of it were still hazy. She had been outside, working on her sewing. Before she was attacked. Sansa couldn't recall their faces, they appeared in her mind blurry and warped from the heavy downpour. She recalled only their fists, the butts of their swords, slamming into her body. There was another man there as well, watching, speaking.

 _He said that I was being punished…that I should have listened…_

Everything had went black after that. Sansa had no idea what she was even doing in the Kingslayer's chambers. Untangling herself from the bed, Sansa stepped down onto the cool marble floor. She was alone in the room. Sansa walked over to the tall looking glass by the wall, examining her appearance. She was wearing a green linen tunic that hung down to softly graze the tops of her thighs.

 _Strange… I don't remember changing._

Sansa turned, looking around the large chamber. It was much simpler than she would have expected for a Lannister. No extravagant lion tapestries or heavy velvet curtains in sight. Glancing over to the dying fire, Sansa saw a pile of bedding strewn across a couch. She walked over and laid her palm on the white sheets.

 _Still warm. Someone has just been here_.

Turning towards the far wall, Sansa again noticed the metal hand lying lifelessly on a wooden desk. She walked over and carefully picked up the hand, running her thumb over its smooth surface.

"Let me know if you'd like to see what the other feels like."

Sansa spun around and the hand slipped from her grasp, landing with metallic clatter on the floor. The Kingslayer leaned casually against the open doorframe, grinning at her reaction. He crossed the room over to where she stood frozen and stopped in front of her, his grin never fading from his tanned face. Sansa bent down to pick up the hand, uncomfortably aware of how the tunic rode up in the back. She kept her eyes level with his chest as she held the hand out. Sansa watched as he strapped it back on just above the wrist and noticed the raw marks where the leather had cut into his flesh.

"Excuse me for asking, my lord, but why am I in your chambers? How long have I been… preoccupied?"

Jaime leaned back against the desk before answering. "A fair question, Lady Sansa. I would like to say that you were so overcome with passion that you hid out in my chambers."

Sansa blushed, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. He started chuckling, crossing his arms across his broad chest and shaking his head in laughing agreement.

"I am only joking, Lady Sansa. I just crave for the opportunity to poke holes in your endearing propriety."

Turning her head away, Sansa hid the small smile that was itching to take over.

He coughed before continuing, allowing his face to resume seriousness. "My lady, I found you out in the storm that blew in two days ago. You had been…attacked and I felt it my duty to help. I let you sleep here to recover. And you obviously needed it, you slept for two days straight."

 _Two days? I have been in the Kingslayer's own chambers for two days?_ Sansa gulped, suddenly nervous. _What if the Queen or Joffrey finds out? They will punish me for sure._ Her heart began to beat faster. Sansa reached out to grip the desk below her, her knuckles turning white.

Sensing her distress, the Kingslayer walked up and took her face in his hands, both the gold and the flesh. Oddly enough, his touch began to slow her hear, easing her anxiety.

"Look at me, Sansa," he said firmly, raising her face slightly to look up at his own. Being so close to him, Sansa noticed how kind his deep green eyes looked. Nothing like the harsh green of his twin's.

"Everything is taken care of. I told my father that I had found you sick in the garden from a stomach flu, which he believed. Even Cersei wouldn't question our father."

"But… what about my servants? They surely—"

His grip tightened slightly, reassuringly. "They, too, have been taken care of. I paid them off, you have nothing to worry about." He released her face, but Sansa continued to look up at him.

"Thank you, my lord. For taking care of me. I… I shall return to my chambers now." Sansa blushed at her own words, suddenly very aware that she was standing almost nude in front of the Kingslayer. She looked past him and saw that her gown from two days ago had been washed and dried and was lain out atop a dresser.

Ignoring the eyes she felt on her back, Sansa walked over to the fresh dress and pulled it over her head. The Kingslayer wordlessly walked up behind her and began to do up the buttons that ridged along her spine. He fastened them effortlessly, as though he had done this before. Sansa felt the heat from his close body and stood perfectly still as a finger barely brushed her neck. His body was so close that she felt as he tensed up before taking a step back.

The Kingslayer cleared his throat. "Let me show you the way out," he said unnecessarily. He took her arm, leading her towards his door. Sansa stepped out and began to turn in the direction towards her chambers. A hand stopped her, holding on to her arm.

"Please, Lady Sansa. Call me Jamie."

Sansa looked over her shoulder and gave him a weak smile before walking away from the Kingslayer.

 _Away from Jaime._

* * *

 _As always, I would love to hear your feedback! What did you think of their relationship so far? Is there anything or anyone you would like to see in the upcoming chapters?  
_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Jaime watched as Sansa rounded the corner and disappeared from view. He smiled, reaching around to lock the door behind him. There was just something about the Stark girl he had sworn to protect. Watching her peacefully sleep in his bed the past two nights had given Jaime a sense of comfort, a sense that he was needed. Cersei had never desired Jaime as anything but a lover and a fighter. Even when he tried to take care of her, Cersei pushed him away. At the birth of each of their children, Jaime had been there, desperately wanting to care for his twin and the babe at her breast. But she pushed him away, starving his desire to love and protect until it disappeared from sight.

After almost a week in the capitol, Jaime had still not spoken to his twin in private. _It's not just talking I'll be doing_ , Jaime thought as he made his way towards the queen's chambers. It was still early; his sister was most likely still sleeping off last night's wine. Jaime noticed that she went deeper into her cups than ever before, as if drowning her anger in the liquor. He pushed open her door and entered into her dark chamber.

Cersei was awake, standing by a parchment covered table. She faced out towards the sea, mildly sipping from the silver goblet in her hand.

"I was expecting you sooner, Jaime," she said, not bothering to turn around.

Jaime walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close and knocking the wine out of her hand. It rolled off the table before clattering to the floor, the dark liquid staining a parchment blood-red before pudding on the stone below.

"Next time come to me, sweet sister," Jaime growled into her ear. He pushed her forward, the two of them pressed inseparably against the table. He allowed his hands to roam the familiar path from her breasts to her hips, taking pleasure in the way her breathing grew heavier. Cersei covered his left hand with her own, guiding it down her bodice. With his right he bent down and reached under her velvet skirt, gripping her upper thigh as he moaned in pleasure.

"Stop it, Jaime. You're hurting me," Cersei said, tensing slightly. Jaime ignored her, continuing to work his golden hand further up her leg and kissing her neck.

Cersei began to fight against his hold, managing to turn around and face him. "Your hand, Jaime. Get it away from me," she whispered in disgust.

"Why should I? Don't you like hurting others, seeing their pain?" Jaime questioned, continuing to press her the cold metal against her thigh.

Cersei worked her right hand out of his arms and reached up to slap him. Jaime caught her blow with his left hand and removed his right from her skirts.

"Didn't anyone teach you how to behave around a queen?" Cersei hissed, trying in vain to wrench her slim wrist from his grasp.

"And didn't anyone teach _you_ how to behave like one? I see what you do, Cersei. I see the monster you've created and the monster you've become. I see how our family hurts those that have no part in this. I've seen the torture you inflict on that Stark girl," Jaime whispered into her ear. His fingers circled tighter around her wrist, pulling her closer.

"Everything I've done here as been for us, Jaime. While you've been away playing war, I have been the one providing for this family. For our children. Anyone who gets in my way deserves their punishment." Cersei glared at him, the rage obvious in her emerald eyes. "Now you come back to me, useless. And still our father decides to parade women in front of you as if you deserved them. The only thing you deserve is that golden hand, Jaime. A constant reminder of your failure." By the end Cersei's voice had gone deathly quiet, spewing out her final words as though they were shards of glass.

Jaime leaned over his twin, his own expression matching hers. "And at the end of this damned war, let all of those whom you have pushed away serve as a reminder of your failure. The singers will never tell tales of the bitch queen who died alone." Not bothering to hear her response, Jaime pushed her away and spun on his heel, kicking the empty goblet across the room on his way out.


	13. Chapter 13

_This chapter is a bit calmer than the previous ones, but it is vital to the story I'm putting together. As always, please enjoy and remember that reviews are greatly appreciated! I would love to hear your thoughts on the story and your ideas!_

 **Chapter 13**

After arriving back in her room, Sansa sank down onto her chaise, thinking about the Kingslayer.

 _No, not the Kingslayer. Jaime. Jaime Lannister_.

It was her third encounter with him, and Sansa couldn't deny the effect he had on her. It was like her body forgot that he was a Lannister, forgot that he was a knight to be feared. Her body simply responded to his presence with a strange sort of familiarity and intimacy that her mother had never talked about. Catelyn Stark had told Sansa that a lord and lady almost never shared mutual affections, as most marriages were purely political. The love that Catelyn had shared with her husband only came after many years. "Your duty, Sansa, is to your husband. Not to your heart," she had warned before Sansa left for the capital. Thinking about her mother brought back the dull ache in her heart, a pain that grew everyday Sansa remained without news of her mother and brother.

Pushing up from the chaise, Sansa walked over to her dressing area and pulled her gown over her head. She peered into the looking glass, frowning at the deep purple bruises covering her body. Sansa still didn't remember that night in the garden or the identify of her attacker. She stepped away from her reflection and over to her closet, picking out a clean shift and simple grey dress.

As she sat down at her vanity, a servant entered the room.

"Can I do anything for you, my lady?" she asked, walking over.

"Please just do my hair, thank you. And some powder to cover…" Sansa trailed off, hoping the girl understood. There was a small bit of bruise not covered by her modestly-cut neckline. As the girl reached over the vanity for the powder, scooting over glass bottles and compacts, Sansa noticed a small envelope hidden behind a vial.

 _How strange… the only letters I would receive are surely intercepted by the queen._

"Actually," Sansa started, causing the girl to look up questionly, "I can finish myself. You may go."

The servant, oblivious to her reason, pursed her lips in annoyance as she nodded and left the room. Sansa glanced over her shoulder as the door clicked behind the girl, needing to be sure that she was alone. Reaching through the bottles, Sansa pulled out the envelope. She turned it over to see only a simple blue seal with no sigil. Cracking open the wax, Sansa pulled out a folded piece of thick parchment.

 _Lady Sansa,_

 _I have sent this letter in attempt to inform you of the danger of your current situation. You have many enemies in the capital at the moment, and more will be arriving shortly to compete for the protection of House Lannister. Do not trust anyone, Lady Sansa. This war is far from over and many will play a much larger role than expected. You play a much larger role than expected and we need your help. It is up to you to protect yourself for now. I have left some weapons in the protection of the direwolf, as this letter may fall into the wrong hands._

 _The North has not forgotten you, Lady Sansa._

The letter had so signature, no indication of its author. Sansa sat back, setting the letter down in front of her. A wave of emotions rushed over her—of Winterfell and her family, of the times Joffrey and this mystery person had hurt her.

 _In the protection of the direwolf? What does that…_

Sansa suddenly jumped off her chair, running to her door and throwing it open. She peered around the doorframe, making sure that no guards were around. On the wall opposite her chamber door was a small tapestry of a silver direwolf howling against a midnight background. It was attached to the wall from the top and bottom, creating a small gap between the wall and fabric. Sansa reached up on her tiptoes, sliding her hand into the space. She pulled out a thin parcel just as a guard rounded the corner. Sansa quickly hid it in her skirts before returning to her room, the guard eyeing her creepily as she shut the door.

Sansa walked over to her bed and set down the parcel. She untied the leather ribbon and pulled back the parchment wrapping. Lying there was a sheathed dagger, its silver hilt encrusted with tiny sapphires. Next to the dagger was a small velvet pouch. Sansa pulled at the ties and shook its contents into her palm. A deep blue pendant gleamed in her palm, the stone fastened onto a thin iron chain. Sansa held it up to her window, smiling at the way the stone appeared to change into swirling liquid as it hit the light.

 _I can't believe someone would give these to me. Blades have always been Arya's thing… and I don't quite see how a pretty necklace can protect me._

She looked back over to the dagger and gingerly picked it up, pulling the blade out from its leather sheath. The steel felt light in her hand despite being the length of her forearm.

 _I suppose it would fit unnoticed in my sleeve or under my dresses. And… the letter is right. I do need a way to protect myself after all that has happened._

Sansa sheathed the dagger and pushed it down the front of her bodice until it rested easily against her waist, secured in place by the snug fabric of her dress. Picking up the pendant, Sansa walked over to her vanity and dropped it into an empty scent bottle. Looking out the window, Sansa noticed the sun beginning to set. Most everyone would be at supper by now, and Sansa usually ate alone in her chambers unless called upon.

 _The perfect time to try out my new…weapon_ , Sansa thought cringing at the thought of herself carrying one. Despite the horrors she had seen and undergone at the capital, Sansa was still a Lady, and the idea of using a dagger seemed wrong. Softly closing her chamber door behind her, Sansa walked swiftly past the guards patrolling the corridor and out into the garden.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The great oak doors opened at his presence. Jaime had been called into the great hall for supper, and he supposed that he couldn't avoid his father and twin forever. There was no feast tonight, but a few lords and ladies had begun to arrive in anticipation of the upcoming celebrations. Margaery and Joffrey were to wed in a fortnight, a spectacle to attract houses from all over Westeros. Tywin had played with the date well, as the wedding would take place in the middle of his own…competition. Great and small houses alike would line up to proclaim their joy at the royal couple, their eligible maidens in tow.

Jaime walked over to his seat beside Tyrion. Just as he began to scrape back his chair, his father raised his ice green eyes and called out—

"Jaime, I would like to introduce you to Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne and his niece, Arianne Martell." Tywin gave Jaime a warning look.

 _Does my father really think so little of me that I can't even portray false curtsies anymore?_

Jaime shifted his eyes to the Martells. Oberyn was lounging back in his chair with well-hidden anger in his dark eyes. The girl was fair in an exotic sense, with smooth coppery skin and jet-black hair that fell well below her waist. She met Jaime's eyes with her own almond ones.

"A pleasure to have you here in the capital, my prince, my lady," Jaime said with a polite nod. Oberyn crossed his arms and titled his head to the side with a tight-lipped smile.

"Ser Jamie, did your years in the Kingsguard erase all of your schooling? You would be correct as to refer to my niece as _Princess_ Arianne. You see," Oberyn paused, licking his lips, "in Dorne we do not ignore one's lineage if they are born with teats, as you Lannisters do." His eyes turned to Cersei as he said this. No one spoke as Cersei glared back at the prince. Oberyn sat up straight and clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. "We are here to feast, no? I have heard tantalizing rumors of the…excellent dishes you serve up here," he told Jaime with a grin.

Despite the rocky start, the evening went surprisingly well. Oberyn gained a liking towards Tyrion, and the two chatted about Dorne and dragons the entire evening. Princess Arianne remained silent but occasionally gave Jaime a seductive look over the top of her goblet, earning her more than a few glares from Cersei. After finishing the last course—wine soaked plums that earned looks of disgust from the Dornish visitors—Jaime pushed away from table and bid the party goodnight.

It was near dark as Jaime made his way through the keep, taking a corridor that opened up into the fresh air as it crossed above the rooms below. A flash of red below caught his eye, causing Jaime to peer over the edge of the iron railing. Jaime was looking down upon the old weirwood grove, one of the few remaining sanctuaries for the Old Gods in the South. Jaime was surprised that Cersei hadn't burned it down after taking Stark's head.

Curious, Jaime jogged down the nearby flight of steps that led directly to the ground below. It was a secluded section of the garden, with only the stairs he had taken and a narrow hedge tunnel from the garden as entrances. As he approached, Jaime could hear heavy breathing and some other sound…the sound of steel ripping apart straw. Jaime peered around a massive white trunk and saw another flash of red—Sansa. The girl was slashing clumsily at a sack of straw tied to one of the trees, a small blade clutched in her pale hand. Her auburn mane whipped around as she stabbed at the sack, obviously exhausted based on the sweat soaking through her thin dress.

Tiptoeing silently through the grove, Jaime approached the girl, still oblivious to his presence as she slashed at the makeshift dummy. He now stood right behind her, close enough to hear every labored breath. He swiftly reached around Sansa's waist, knocking the blade from her hand and locking her in his arms.

* * *

Sansa screamed as the dagger flew from her hand and arms wrapped around her waist. She tried to elbow the body behind her—to no avail, the arms merely tightened their hold, allowing no room to struggle.

"Do you know the best spot to stab a man, Lady Sansa?" a voice whispered seductively, playfully, in her ear. "There's a place right below the ribs—a direct line to his heart," the voice continued. The man—Sansa was sure of that, at least—secured her with his right arm and brought two finger to her waist, pressing lightly on the spot below her ribs. His touch seemed to send her nerves into a frenzy, sparking over and over silently underneath her skin.

"I can show you, Lady Sansa. Although it seems like you already have a head start…" Before she could speak the man snapped her around, turning her to face him.

 _Jaime Lannister._

Sansa froze, still locked in his arms and painfully aware of a bead of sweat running down her neck. Jaime had removed his hand from her waist moved it to her back. "My lord… Jaime. I was… I was not expecting…you…anyone." Now aware of the man's identity, Sansa relaxed slightly in his arms. Her mind seemed to scream danger, but Sansa pushed those thoughts away, choosing rather to listen to her body. Against his.

Jaime suddenly released her by stepping back, a playful expression taking over his weathered, but handsome, features. Sansa nervously returned his smile and smoothed down her skirt.

"I see that you have a sword. I never pictured you as the type."

Sansa looked at the blade lying on the earth below. "That was always my sister, Arya. But it's just a dagger, actually. And it's not even mine. Well not really, anyways."

 _What if he tells the Queen? If anyone were to find out…they'll mount my head beside my father's._

"Not yours? Lady Sansa, I never took you as a liar! Look at it, of course it's yours," Jaime joked back. He stepped forward and bent down to pick up the dagger, flipping it's handle towards her and onto his palm as he walked back over.

"Look at the hilt, the pattern. Of course it's yours."

Sansa looked carefully at the jeweled hilt. She had never noticed before…but there it was. Under the faint moon creeping into the sky, Sansa made out the pattern of a direwolf. The tiny sapphires gleamed in all different shades, from ink-black to sky blue and everything in between. All together, the stones shaded the crusted hilt to form direwolf. Sansa stepped closer to Jaime, further examining the dagger.

"It's never looked like this before, not until tonight. Perhaps a mummers farce. Or…" Sansa trailed off, stepping back to look up at Jaime.

"Whatever the case, it clearly belongs to you. And rightfully so. Listen, my lady," he said, stepping closer and closing her hand over the hilt, "I know what's been happening to you here. I know that you need protection, and I can't always be there to rescue you. You don't need to tell me why or where you got this, but whomever sent it had the right idea. It appears to fit you just right, the perfect weapon for a lady of the North," he added mischievously.

Sansa bit her lip in worry.

 _I suppose he's right, but that still doesn't solve the problem of—_

"And my lady will need a teacher, will she not?"

* * *

 _As always, feel free to review, favorite, and follow! I would love to hear your thoughts on their new encounter! We should see more interaction with the Martells next chapter..._


	15. Chapter 15

_Ok so the Martells actually won't show up in this chapter, sorry about that! I think there's something that you all should enjoy even more! As always, please R &R! _

**Chapter 15**

The next morning Sansa woke to the sound of sparrows chirping merrily outside her open window. It was almost peaceful. She raised her arms above her head, stretching lazily before remembering. _He told me to meet him in the Godswood_. "Come before sunrise, take care that no one sees you leaving. And dress practically," he had teased the previous night. No longer tired, Sansa stepped out of bed and hurried over to her closet. _Nothing too heavy or nice…I don't want Cersei to have another reason to hate me_. After rummaging through her limited options, Sansa pulled out a breezy powder blue morning gown that she knew would compliment her eyes. _Not that that matters_ , Sansa chided to herself.

After sneaking past the snoring guards outside her chamber, Sansa crept out towards the garden. Just as she turned a corner her foot caught on a loose stone, and Sansa let out a shriek, her face rushing towards the floor—

A hand darted out, steadying her. "Careful, Lady Sansa. We can't have you getting hurt."

Sansa looked up, placing a hand nervously on her plait. Littlefinger was staring back at her, his cold hand resting firmly on her shoulder. It was still twilight, the faintest tendrils of sun were barely peaking out above the garden.

"Lord Baelish, pardon my clumsiness," Sansa said. A strange feeling of familiarity and disgust came over her. She stared coldly at his hand, willing it away. "If you would please excuse me." Sansa moved to dart around him, but Littlefinger shifted to block her path.

"One moment, Sansa. Need I remind you of the last time we spoke? You never followed through with the plan." His grip tightened and she could feel his fingers digging into her flesh.

"Please, Lord Baelish, I'm sorry. I couldn't get away that night and—"

"I don't care what your excuse was. I told you to _come_ and you didn't. Seven hells, girl, I'm trying to protect you!" He moved the other hand to her neck, forcing her sharply to look up. Sansa began to struggle against his grip.

"Please, you're hurting me!"

He looked over her shoulder and paled.

"Littlefinger. I wasn't aware that you were acquainted with the Lady Sansa."

His grip remained strong, but Sansa saw fear flash in his silver eyes before fading into amusement. _I know that voice, Jaime._

"We're just having a little chat, _Ser Jaime_. I suppose you don't mind."

"I care nothing for some little Stark girl, but I know that Cersei wants to keep her safe. What would our lovely queen do if she knew that you were harming the king's plaything?" Jaime said, and Sansa could feel him stepping closer. With that, Littlefinger released her. Sansa stumbled backwards into Jaime, who immediately stepped protectively in front of her.

Littlefinger eyed Jaime suspiciously. "I see that I'm not the only one interested in the "little Stark girl", as you put it." With a knowing look he walked off, brushing his hands on his robes as he left.

"Come along, Sansa. We've wasted too much time already," Jaime said, pulling Sansa behind him. He was obviously upset at something. Sansa stalled before following, knowing better than to resist.

Jaime's words had hurt; tears began to sting at her eyes. Sansa blinked them back and allowed her face to settle into its familiar icy setting.

 _A wolf does not cry._

"No Sansa, you're still holding it wrong," Jaime sighed before stepping behind the girl to show her the correct grip, gently placing her fingers around the hilt. When he had seen Littlefinger with the girl, it was all he could do not to slice open his belly. _The girl cannot know that I am sworn to protect her. It would be the end to us all_. _And if Littlefinger has taken an interest…_

"Good, Sansa. Now try to hit the target," Jaime said, gesturing to the straw dummy. After seeing her crude attempt at a dummy, Jaime had stuck into the armory and pulled out a dummy that little boys might practice with, nothing too intimidating. He leaned back against the tree and watched as the girl stepped forward, striking the target just left of center.

Jaime nodded in approval. They had been at this for three hours already, and Sansa was finally getting the hang of it. Sansa turned, smiling at his approval. She wrenched the dagger out, sending straw dust flying back. It was a little strange to teach using a dagger instead of a sword, but Jaime managed, even demonstrating a little with his left hand.

Sansa walked over, stopping in front of him. "Are we done for today, Ser Jaime?" she questioned, loosely holding the dagger by her side.

"One more thing, my Lady," he started, drawing himself up to his full height. He noticed how her eyes widened, roaming over his broad shoulder and well-muscled arms. The girl was so small compared to him, obviously intimidated as she took a small step back. "I want you to try it on me." Jaime grinned down at her wide blue eyes.

"But—I don't want to hurt you," she squeaked, looking at the dagger in her hand.

Chuckling, Jaime unbuckled his own dagger from his belt. "Don't worry, little wolf. You won't hurt me." With that Jaime was behind her, dagger in hand.

Sansa turned to face him, trying to conceal her pleasure at his nickname. "Well, Ser Jaime. Then I hope you know that wolves have teeth." She lunged forward, aiming at his arm. Jaime easily stepped sideways, avoiding her blow. Trying again, a look of determination on her face, Sansa ducked under his arm, this time aiming at his lower leg. Jumping out of the way, he lowered an arm around her crouched form, easily lifting her off the ground with his one arm.

"What's that you said, _little wolf_? Where are those teeth now?" Jaime chuckled, spinning her around. Sansa laughed despite struggling against his grip, the dagger slipping from her hand.

THWACK!

The girl kicked back, landing a blow on his stomach and knocking the wind out of him. They both tumbled back, Jaime falling hard on his back and Sansa pulled on top of him. They both started laughing, unable to control themselves on the floor of the Godswood.

Jaime flipped her off his chest, caging her flat of her back beneath his propped up arms. "Yield, wolf girl," he teased, playfully pointing his dagger to her throat. A wave of cold fear flashed in her eyes before they became playful again. Chest heaving, she looked up at him.

"I yield, I yield!" she called.

"Good." Jaime rolled off her, lying beside her on the hard ground. He turned his head to look over at her. Sansa was still breathing hard, her face turned towards the peaking sun with a faint smile on her lips. They lied there for almost a minute in silence, catching their breath.

Finally, Jaime caught a faint whisper escaping from her lips. "Thank you."

Jaime did not look at her. "For what?"

"For making me laugh. I haven't laughed since before they took my father's head." Jaime now sat up and saw a single tear slide silently down her lovely, cold face. He scooted closer, now sitting by her head. She did not move from her position lying on her back as Jaime gently propped up her head, laying it down in his lap. He reached over, brushing the tear with his thumb. He could feel her shake with a sob, but it did not come. She was every bit a strong Northerner, a child of winter.

"I'm so sorry, Sansa. If I had been here…I know that what my sister did was wrong. What my family has done to yours…there are no excuses." She did not speak, but another tear escaped her closed eyes, tailing down her cheek.

 _I want only to take away her pain._

Hesitantly, Jaime leaned forward and brushed a light kiss on her salty cheek. Her dark eyelashes fluttered upward, revealing her sad Tully blue eyes. A light blush crept across the spot where his lips had touched. He felt a small hand on the nape of his neck, using it as leverage to pull herself slightly up until her pale face was just inches from his own.

"Thank you," she whispered again. Sansa pulled herself up, closing the gap between their lips. Her shell-pink mouth was timid and unsure beneath his. Jaime leaned closer, deepening their kiss. She tasted of lemon and salt. Without breaking their contact, Jaime scooped her up, setting her down with her back to a tree. Hot passion burned through his veins as he tasted and tasted, his tongue gently probing her lips to seek entrance. Sansa seemed shocked at first before parting her lips. Backing her up against the white trunk, Jaime tangled a hand in her think auburn hair. Sansa did the same, reaching up for his own golden head.

"—wait, Jaime," Sansa pleaded, her voice breaking out in sharp breaths. "This—this isn't proper. You shouldn't…I shouldn't…" She trailed off, looking up.

Jaime sighed, leaning in till his forehead touched her own. _She's right…I don't know what came over me. I love Cersei, not some young girl._ He reached out to gently stoke her jaw before stepping back.

"I don't care about what I should and should not do, Sansa…I take what I want when I want it…but you are right. I will let you know when the next lesson is." Without stopping to see her reaction, Jaime turned around and headed back for the keep.


	16. Chapter 16

_Just a heads up: I am switching/omitting/changing some book events for the sake of this story. If things don't occur in the correct order (or at all), please know that it is entirely intentional! Thanks and please R &R! _

**Chapter 16**

Seven pairs of eyes stared, exasperated as Maester Pycelle sat fumbling with the scroll in his withered hands. His father had called a meeting of the small council, for some reason choosing to include Jaime and the king along with the usual members.

"Get on with it then," Tyrion called out sarcastically down the long table, earning a glare from their father.

Pycelle loudly cleared his throat. "Robb Stark, the false king in the North, is pronounced dead. Killed alongside his mother and queen, Jeyne Westerling, at the hands of Walder Frey. It appears that the boy's uncle, the Blackfish, has escaped. All of Stark's bannermen have either been killed or swore allegiance to the throne."

"You're saying that that _bastard_ Stark and his bitch are gone?" Joffrey laughed cruelly, snatching the parchment out of Pycelle's hand. "Now this…this is what I was talking about. I guess we didn't need you after all, Uncle," he spit out.

"Hold your tongue, boy. Even a king can have it ripped out." Tywin's words shut Joffrey up. Even Joffrey wouldn't speak back to the Hand. "Now that the Starks have lost the North, the crown needs to quickly regain control of the northern lands. We cannot have it falling into the hands of the Greyjoys, who are reportedly gathering off the coast by Deepwood Motte."

"If I may, lord Hand," Littlefinger interrupted, "but it appears that the northerners will not follow anyone but their own —"

"All of the Starks are dead, Lord Baelish," Cersei spat, turning her catlike eyes towards him. "The two boys are dead at the hands of Theon Greyjoy, Arya Stark is missing and Sansa—"

This time it was Tywin who interrupted the queen. "Sansa Stark is here at the Red Keep. She is the last remaining child of Eddard Stark and a woman flowered. We will marry her off to secure control of the North."

Jaime's eyes snapped up, but it was Tyrion who spoke out. "Father, you cannot be serious! She is but a child, tortured here at court by her own king. A forced marriage will destroy the girl." To this Joffrey stood up, eyes fuming. Cersei shook her head at him across the table, to which the boy ignored.

"Sansa Stark is _mine_ ," he hissed. "You can't just take her away, I am your king!" he screeched.

Tywin's eyes narrowed. "Any man who must say, "I am the king" is no true king. I'll make sure you understand that when I've won your war for you. We will give the girl to Lord Baelish, and with her he will win the support of the North for our house. She will be wedded and bedded the night before the royal wedding. If the younger sister can be found, we will give her to Tyrion."

 _Seven hells…they're giving her to Littlefinger? After her entire family was killed? My promise…_ Jaime looked over at the man in question. Littlefinger had on a smug smile beneath is mustache. His stomach churned.

"It will be an honor to serve this great house, Lord Hand."

Across him Cersei was grinning, not bothering to hide her glee. The eunuch was wringing his powdered hands pensively, gears at work in his bald head. Tyrion was still staring, mouth agape, at their father.

Tywin sighed. "Guards," he called out. "Escort the king back to his chambers. The rest of you are dismissed."

Jaime made to follow his brother when his father stopped him dead in his tracks. "Not you, Jaime." Jaime walked back over, loudly scraping back his chair.

"Yes, father?"

"I hope that you have not forgotten of your own wedding coming up. Have you chosen a bride?"

Jaime chuckled at his father's indifference. He thought back on the maidens he had already met. The only one that stuck him at all was Arianne, although the dark-haired beauty was no match for his golden twin. "Why is it," Jaime started ignoring the question, "that you can't just give the Stark girl to me? I am your kin, after all."

"I require you at court," he replied curtly. "The girl must be brought back to Winterfell, I cannot have you so far from the crown."

Jaime frowned at his answer, knowing that his father cared little about his well-being.

"Besides, why give her to you when our house can easily gain a much more powerful one? Think strategically, Jaime. You will pick one that I present, no other."

"As you say, father." Jaime bowed in mock courtesy before turning to leave.

The door creaked open and a figure ripped open the heavy curtains, admitting light into her dark chamber. Sansa quickly removed her fingertips from her lips. She had been dreaming of Jaime's kiss, the feel of his soft lips on her own and the way he had touched her, taking away her pain.

* * *

"Sansa, dear. You have to get dressed. The king wants you at court."

Blinking in the light, Sansa sat up to see Margaery standing by her bed. Sansa glanced outside to see that it was well past sunrise.

"Hurry, Sansa. Here, wear this." Margaery thrust a cream-colored gown into her hands, already moving to help her undress.

Not questioning, Sansa quickly got ready and followed the queen-to-be to the throne room. The court was filled with people, and above them all in the iron throne was Joffrey. A wormy smile spread across his lips as he saw the two girls approach. He reached out a hand, gesturing for Margaery to stand beside him.

"Ah, so good of you to join us, Lady Sansa. Please, step forward."

Sansa looked nervously at the crowd and then at the king. _Where's Jaime?_ Cersei was standing on the other side of the throne with a cool smile. Sansa stepped forward until she stood before the king, alone in the crowded hall.

"My lords, my ladies, I have great news for you all!" Joffrey shouted, earning a wave of gossip to flit around the hall. "The usurper Robb Stark is dead! His mother and wife too! We sewed his body to the head of his own wolf!"

Her heart beat. One. Two. The hall's silence turned to deafening cheers, the sound creating a barrier that separated Sansa from everyone else. Her heart beat. Three. Four. Sansa fell to her knees and closed her eyes. Five. Six. A single tear fell.

"Let's teach the Stark girl a lesson! Guards!" As the drop hit the stone, it was as if the dam burst and all of the sound and commotion broke through. Someone came up behind her and a hard first collided with her jaw. Another anonymous hand grabbed a fistful of her gown and tore at the shoulder, the silk screeching as if it too was in pain. Again and again the hands hit and tore, hit and tore.

"What are you doing!" A voice boomed out from the back of the hall, echoing off the great pillars. Loud steps came up behind her. "You will not treat a lady like this. Ever."

"We were just celebrating, Uncle. Maybe this time you'd like to join in."

Sansa, trembling, looked up to see Jaime's golden cloak.

"Get out!" Jaime roared, spinning around to face the now silent crowd.

"You will not speak to your king like that! I will tell mother—"

Jaime cut his nephew off, his voice as sharp and deadly as the blade at his hip. "My sister will not protect you forever." He walked up, climbing the steps until he loomed over the iron throne. Cersei moved to block his path but Jaime pushed her aside. "I hope you know your history, my King," Jaime hissed.

Jaime walked back to Sansa, wrapping his own cloak around her exposed shoulders. Sansa looked up, still shaking, at the hand he offered her. She took it, hoping the gratitude was evident in her eyes. With all the dignity she could muster Sansa stood up, her chin held high. She noted that Margaery had left with the crowd. Jaime took her arm, leading her out of the hall and away from the king.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Once outside the throne room Jaime stopped, bending down to pick the girl up. As soon as his hand touched her waist, she recoiled, her icy eyes flashing as she wrapped the gold cloak tighter around her chest.

"Let me take you back to your chambers."

"Don't. I can walk just fine."

And so Jaime led her by the arm down the corridors in silence. He occasionally looked down, only to see that her features had grown colder and more distant. The guards on patrol stared, obviously curious as to why the Stark girl wore a Lannister cloak over her torn gown. Upon arriving at her door Jaime paused, unsure if he should follow her inside. _After everything…I suppose I should make sure she doesn't throw herself from her tower_. Jaime ducked under the doorframe and let his eyes roam around her room, settling on her white bed. A wave of heat washed over, flames licking at his breeches as he remembered the kiss in the Godswood. _Stop that_ , _you care nothing for the girl,_ Jaime chided himself, returning his gaze to Sansa. She stood unmoving, the only sign of distress being the whiteness of her knuckles as she clutched his cloak.

"Sansa, I am so sorry for your loss. It is a terrible tragedy." Jaime wanted to take away her pain, but this time there were no tears to kiss away.

She turned to face him. "You have nothing to be sorry for, my lord. My family were traitors, they deserved their fate." Jaime could almost feel the temperature drop as the words spilled out amongst her icy breath. His fist clenched at her words, anger and sadness alike rushing forward. _Her damn courtesy._

"Dammit Sansa!" he yelled, walking up and grabbing her arms. She did not even flinch at his touch. "I know you don't feel that way! What, do you think I'm going to kill you too? Finish the Stark bloodline right here in these chambers?"

Before he could continue the girl leapt forward, slamming her small fists into his chest. Jaime stumbled back, angry and surprised. He raised his right hand, ready to strike her back before stopping himself. Jaime stared at his raised golden hand. Sansa hit him again, harder but not enough to truly hurt. A sob escaped her mouth, then another and another as she continued to strike, tears sliding down her face. Jaime simply stood there. _Sometimes the only way to take away pain is by giving it to others_.

Finally Sansa drew back her fists, hugging herself as she sank down to the floor below. Sobs racked her entire body. Jaime had never noticed just how young she was, rocking back and forth, crushed under the weight of death and despair.

"Shh, it's ok," he soothed, wrapping his arms around her.

"My family…they're all gone. I have no one." Sansa leaned into his arms, allowing him to pull her close to his chest. He kissed the top of her head.

"I know, Sansa. I know." Her sobbing had begun to subside, and Jaime carefully wiped at her tear-stained cheeks. "You have been so brave, sweet girl. Your family would be so proud."

"I know it isn't your fault, Jaime."

"Hey…it only hurt a little," he teased. Sansa did not smile, she merely looked up at him with her watery blue eyes.

And so they sat there, him holding her until the sun had set and the stars broke across the inky sky. Jaime stood up, carrying the sleeping girl to her bed and tucked her in, just as he had not long ago.

"Somehow, sweet girl, I will make things right. I promised," he whispered, kissing her soft hair before gently closing the door behind him.

* * *

"You asked for me, my queen?" Sansa entered the room where Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion sat, breaking their fast. Before leaving her chamber Sansa had carefully applied powder to her face, concealing any blotches and redness from the previous night. She hoped that her expression showed only ice. _She will not see my grief. I am the Lady of Winterfell now._

Cersei set down her goblet of ice wine, narrowing her catlike eyes as Sansa approached. To the queen's left Tyrion rolled his eyes, continuing to flip through a book.

"I have good news, darling Sansa. Come closer," she purred, beckoning with her finger. Sansa walked forwards, her eyes never staying, never showing fear. Finally she stood right before the queen. Never forgetting her courtesies, Sansa picked up her skirts, bowing to Cersei's golden head. Cersei nodded in contrived approval.

"You are a woman grown, Sansa. It is time we let another share in your great beauty."

A deep blush spread across her face and neck. Sansa's eyes involuntarily darted to Jaime, but he only looked away.

"Anyways, the crown has found you the perfect husband to retake the North using your birthright. King Joffrey has so graciously decided to give your hand to Lord Baelish."

A shock coursed through her body and Sansa quickly tried to hide the fear in her eyes before the queen could notice. _No, please. Not him_. Although Littlefinger had never truly hurt her, her body seemed to react in that way. As though Cersei's words had struck her.

Sansa looked over at Jaime. His mouth was set in a hard line, his jaw clenched.

"What a kind offer, your grace. I am truly honored by Joffrey's kind gift."

"Of course you are, sweet girl. Now run along, we have much to do, what with two weddings on the horizon!"

Taking it as her dismissal, Sansa turned around, blood rushing to her ears. She stopped just outside the room, her back to the wall as she tried to calm her racing heart.

"And I am sure the poor girl will be delighted to spend the rest of her life trapped in the bed of a whore-dealer," Tyrion said from inside the room. Sansa made out the light, tinkling laugh of the queen.

* * *

The following days blurred together, as if the entire keep was stuck in the same routine. Jaime spent the mornings before dawn with Sansa in the Godswood, teaching her how to use the bejeweled dagger. She was a fast learner despite her ladylike appearance. Jaime sensed that she enjoyed the feeling of power every time her blade reached its intended target. Although Sansa did no longer outwardly grieve, she had been changed by the death of her family. She rarely laughed at his teasing now, only giving away hard-earned smiles.

The afternoons he spent with either his brother or Ser Ilyn Payne, respectively chatting and reading or sword-fighting with his left hand. Every evening more guests arrived for the royal wedding, and Tywin would introduce to him their maidens. Most of them simply bored Jaime, choosing to discuss the proper things their septons encouraged. The only one that Jaime enjoyed talking to was Arianne Martell. She was quick-witted, much like her uncle the Red Viper. When his father was watching Jaime would hold her hand and smile, inducing the perfect image of courtship.

"I see that you have chosen," Tywin said. It was two days before the royal wedding, and Tywin had pulled Jaime aside after supper.

Jaime's eyes followed his father's gaze into the great hall. The entire court was there, unnecessarily feasting in celebration for the upcoming wedding. Although his eyes followed Tywin's into the room, they did not rest on the Martell princess. Sansa sat beside Margaery, a smile breaking over her delicate features as she politely laughed at the future queen.

"It appears so."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

 _It's today_. Sansa sharply inhaled, only letting the breath escape at the last possible second.

BANG!

Her body reflexively inhaled again, this time in shock. Margaery and three other servant entered, oblivious to their rather crude entrance.

"Dear Sansa, did I wake you?" she sang out, drawing open the curtains. She now saw what one servant was carrying—at white gown.

"I was already up, your grace."

Margaery wrinkled her nose in feigned annoyance. "I'm not _your grace_ yet, Sansa. Hold off on your courtesies till tomorrow. Who would have thought that we'd be married one after the other?" She laughed, bells chiming in her sweet voice. _Not that sweet_ , Sansa reminded herself. _She'll have to put up with Joffrey_.

Sansa allowed the servants to draw a bathe, perfuming the steaming water with scent of rose. Afterwards the girls sculpted her thick hair into an elaborate crown atop her head, adorned with tiny moonstones that glimmered in the pale light. Sansa kept herself calm throughout the process, not letting her fear known to the laughing girls around her.

"You can look now, sweet Sansa." Margaery removed her hands from Sansa's eyes, allowing her reflection to stare back. The dress was the palest blue, the color of frost. The tight corset bodice pushed up her breasts and the neckline revealed her pale shoulders. Down the back ran silver buttons, ridging her spine. A servant stepped forward, clasping the direwolf maiden cloak around her neck.

"Today everyone will be looking at _you_ , beautiful Sansa. Today _you_ will be their queen." Sansa smiled at her kind-hearted attempts to make her feel better. "We'll leave you be for a bit, Sansa. A guard will escort you when it is time." Margaery planted a light kiss on her cheek, and with that they were gone, leaving behind the faintest hint of rose.

Sansa walked carefully back over to her bed and sat down, putting her head in her hands. _I wish you could be here, mother. You would tell me what to do, what to expect_. After hearing Cersei's comment about Littlefinger, a cold fear raced through her veins whenever she thought about later tonight. About what he would do to her.

"Sansa?" a voice called out from the other side of her locked door. Sansa hurried, as fast as she could with the long train, to unlock it. Jaime stood there, a pensive expression on his face.

She waited for him to speak. Jaime paused, as if unable to find words. "I—I wanted to see you before the ceremony. All of the guards have left—I wanted to see you."

Sansa stepped back, allowing him to enter and softly shutting the door.

"Jaime…it's not proper for you to be here. If Joffrey or the queen—"

She was suddenly cut off as Jaime closed the gap between them, reaching for her face. Sansa felt her heart flutter a beat as warmth spread from his fingertips.

"Before…I took what I wanted. In war, in lov—" he paused, cupping her cheek. "And now I'm taking this." He pulled her forward until their lips met. He kissed her roughly this time, surprising her with his passion. He pulled back before Sansa could even register what had just happened.

"I'm so sorry that I cannot stop this. I promised…" he trailed off, gently stroking a finger across her cheekbone. Before Sansa could respond he turned around, shutting the door loudly behind him.

Just ten minutes later a guard showed up, offering an arm to escort her to the sept.

* * *

""Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days." Jaime looked on at the ceremony from his spot on the steps. Cersei stood beside him, smiling innocently at the spectacle. He watched as Littlefinger reached forward, pulling Sansa to meet his lips. _Far too long a kiss to be appropriate_ , Jaime thought, his stomach churning at the sight. He noted that Sansa did not return the kiss, merely standing there coldly. _Like she's a prop_.

As Littlefinger took his bride's hand, turning to face the crowd, a wave of helplessness crashed over his head. _There is nothing I can do. After the feast Littlefinger will rape her and take the only thing she had left._ His thoughts were interrupted when his twin clasped her hand around his own, their contact hidden behind her full skirts.

"Don't," he hissed, roughly removing her hand. He turned to see Cersei narrow her eyes before resuming her queenly composure.

"I see the way you look at her," Cersei hissed back, ignoring his attempts to leave.

"I don't know what you are speaking of, sweet sister. All the men here are gawking."

"You know that's not what I mean. I think—"

"What you _think_ does not concern me." Jaime turned his back, making his way through the crowd till he came across a servant holding wine. Seeing his anger, the boy shakily handed him a goblet, the wine sloshing over the edge.

Gulping it down, Jaime looked back up at the steps. Sansa and Littlefinger still stood there, greeting and thanking well-wishers. Littlefinger had an arm snaked around her waist, keeping her caged to his side. As if sensing his stare, Sansa looked up. From across the room even Jaime could see the tears pooling in her sad blue eyes.

"More wine. And don't spill it this time," Jaime snapped.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Littlefinger softly shut the door. Following the wedding feast Joffrey had drunkenly screamed for a bedding ceremony, but her husband had put an end to that, claiming that the king and his court alike must rest for the royal wedding. He had led Sansa to a part of the keep she had never been. The dark room glowed in the light of strange-smelling candles, the scent so overwhelming that her eyes began to water as she entered. Now Sansa stood in the middle of his room, heart pounding as he approached.

"Alone we are at last, sweet wife." He reached out, running his cold finger across her jaw. _I will not flinch. I will not show my fear._

"You know, Sansa. I could have been your father. But they took Cat from me and handed her over to that ungrateful northerner. You look so much like her, so much like her mother." He pulled back his hand, eyeing her up and down as if he could see straight through. _I will not flinch. I will not show my fear_. Sansa looked straight ahead past his shoulders.

He now stepped behind her and slowly began to unbutton her gown. "I suppose it doesn't matter now, my dear Cat is dead. I have you now." As the opening grew wider Littlefinger ran his palm over her exposed back. Sansa's back arched reflexively as his hand stoked her lower to her hips.

"Take it off," he commanded, circling before stopping in front. _No, please, no._ Sansa did not move, hugging the bodice to her chest before it could slip down. Anger flashed in his dark eyes. "Do not make me say it again, Sansa. Take it off." Littlefinger turned, walking over to his wine cart. Knowing that she had no choice, Sansa began to pull off the gown as he poured his wine. Without turning around, he calmly said, "The shift too. I want to look at my new bride."

Trembling, Sansa pulled the light shift over her head, in the process pulling the pins from her hair. The long ringlets tumbled down past her shoulders. Sansa looked away as he came closer, swishing the wine in his mouth before gulping it down. He suddenly set down the wine, beginning to advance like a beast stalking its prey. Sansa backed up in fear till she could go no further, her back pressed against the stone wall. Littlefinger put his hands on either side, caging her against the wall.

"Isn't it ironic, that after all I have done you were simply given to me. Like a prize." His fingers stretched forward, tracing down her collarbone. He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. "I trust you remember what happens when I don't get my way. We don't want a repeat of the garden, do we? But I am sure you will please me just fine, won't you Sansa?"

A faint whimper escaped as his hand groped lower at her breast. Just as he was sliding down the other hand, a timid knock sounded from the door. "Can't you see I'm busy?" he snarled as a servant poked his head through the crack.

"Ex—Excuse me, Lord Baelish," the boy stammered as he noticed Sansa, naked as her nameday against the wall. "They said it was urgent. That it can't wait."

 _Who would request Littlefinger at his own bedding?_

"Don't think that I won't finish this later," he hissed into her ear. It was as if he was expecting this summon. Sansa nodded in fear as he released her to follow the boy. As soon as the door shut Sansa sank down, finally allowing the day's tears to flow freely.

After a while the tears refused to come, and Sansa shakily pulled her discarded shift back on. There was no other furniture on which to sleep in the strange room, so she hesitantly crawled onto his bed, drawing her knees to her chest. As the night grew darker Littlefinger still did not return to his chambers, leaving Sansa alone with her thoughts until sleep finally claimed her.

* * *

The door still did not open. Sansa had slept fitfully in the strange bed, often waking at the sound of imaginary footsteps creeping towards her in the dark. Since the night had begun to fade from the sky Sansa had stayed awake, waiting.

 _I have to get out of here, before he comes back_. Sansa shuddered at the thought. She quietly got out of the bed, tiptoeing over to the door and cracking it open. No guards patrolled this section of the keep today, as there were much more important guests here for Joffrey's wedding. Sansa eased herself out, her feet lightly padding down the corridor.

 _Straight, left, up the stairs. Now right at the window. Left, right, down the stairs._ It was like her legs left her mind as they took a familiar path through the pitch-black keep. Shadows began to leap out from behind corners and floorboards creaked beneath her in agony. _One, two,_ her heart beat. _Three, four,_ this time faster, louder. Sansa began to run through the darkness, her heart thudding and tears blurring her vision. The walls spun around her in the darkness, trapping and turning as though the keep itself was alive.

 _A light_. Sansa ran forwards, now forgetting any plan of keeping quiet as her bare feet slapped at the marble. Sansa ran towards the light, breathless until she finally broke free.

* * *

Jaime looked up, startled. He was in the Godswood, aimlessly raking a dagger through the grass as dark thoughts plagued his mind. He had left his chambers before dawn as always, with the foolish hope that Sansa would be there. _Not a fool after all_.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Sansa skidded to a halt, her loose hair flying wildly back at the abrupt stop. A look of confusion crossed her face, as if she just noticed where she was. That was when she looked up, eyes staring widely back at his own.

"Sansa? What are you doing here?" Jaime stayed back, not wanting to scare her in her obvious bewilderment.

"I—I do not…I don't know why. I don't know why I'm here. I just…I had to get away." Sansa stepped forward, entering the wood.

Jaime looked her up and down, taking in the thin shift and the salty tracks down her cheeks. "Did he hurt you?" He stepped forward, gripping her arms.

Sansa didn't respond. " _Seven hells_ , he did, of course he did!" Jaime spat, stepping back. "I don't care if he's your husband I'm going to—" he started, reaching for his sword.

"Wait! No, Jaime, he didn't…do it." Jaime looked down as she blushed unconsciously. He raised an eyebrow in disbelief, waiting for Sansa to continue.

Sansa swallowed. "He was…only touching me when a servant looking. He told me that he'd be back, but he never came. I was alone the entire night." She looked down at her feet.

 _Strange…you'd think the bastard would have taken her right then and there. What in the seven hells could tear him away?_

Relief washed over Jaime. He whistled, the pitch echoing around the smooth white trees. "Whatever it was, it doesn't matter." Stepping closer, Jaime wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head as it buried in his chest. "Just that you're safe. I'm going to keep you safe, Sansa."

Sansa brought her hands to his chest and raised her eyes. "He will come back for me, Jaime. I know you want to help but—"

"I'd be a fool to think otherwise. But I will think of something." Jaime breathed out against her neck. "I want to show you something," he whispered.

"Now? Joffrey's wedding is today."

"It's not till high noon." Jaime stepped back, holding out his left hand. "Come, Sansa. It's not far."

The girl hesitantly reached for his hand, allowing Jaime to lead her away from the ever staring trees.

* * *

"Jaime, I still don't see where we're going." Sansa glanced nervously over her shoulder. Jaime had led her through the garden hedges and out towards a wooded path in the Kingswood. Just the Baratheon banner could be seen flying above the treetops from this distance.

"Just a little further, little wolf." Jaime looked back, flashing a grin.

He led her until the Kingswood grew thick with trees and briars rose out of every turn. Jaime reached out his golden hand, pushing back a heavy layer of vines.

 _That…that sounds like water._ Jaime helped her through the thicket until she stood on the rocky banks of a waterfall. The brook was based on the hill above, the clear water rushing past a ledge to rumble into the pool below. Honeysuckle climbed gracefully up the rocky walls, leaving the air sweet with honey.

Sansa turned, staring at Jaime with her mouth agape. He chuckled at her reaction, gesturing to the hidden waterfall. "A long time ago as children, long before you were even born, I might add," he said, winking, "my siblings and I would spend summers at the Red Keep. One day Cersei made Prince Rhaegar and me chase her through the Kingswood, playing knights and fair maidens." Jaime paused to roll his eyes, earning a small smile from Sansa. "And so we stumbled upon this place."

"It's beautiful…and so…"

"Peaceful, away from court?" Sansa nodded in agreement.

Sansa walked over to the pool, peering over the edge as her own reflection peered back. She had never seen, not since they killed her father, such a genuine smile on her face. All of the horrible events of the previous night were pushed back, remaining at the keep.

The rustling of fabric brought Sansa back into reality. She turned to find Jaime standing there in nothing but his smallclothes, a toothy grin on his face as he registered her shock.

"What are you doing?!"

He shrugged. "I don't know about you, Lady Sansa, but I'm going for a swim. Feel free to join." With that he stepped up to the ledge and jumped.

"Jaime!" Sansa ran over as he emerged, shaking his dripping head. From her position above the pool she watched as he swam further, his muscles rippling beneath his golden back.

Sansa pursed her lips. _To hell with my courtesy. Everything else has already been taken from me._ After fumbling with the fastenings of her shift, Sansa peeled it off till she too was dressed only in smallclothes and corset.

Plugging her nose, Sansa dived from the ledge. Her heart stopped as her body submerged under the cold water. After allowing he body to sink down, her toes brushing the smooth pebbles, she kicked up till her head broke the surface.

Sansa gasped, gulping down air as she struggled to push back her soaping hair. Squinting through the water streaming down her face, she saw Jaime on the other side, laughing.

"This isn't funny!" she sputtered, smoothing back the last lock.

"No—of course not, my lady." Jaime struggled to keep a serious face as he swam over.

"You won't tell anyone?"

"What, tell the king that his pretty little wolf fell into puddle?" Sansa glared back in mock anger.

Jaime stopped before her with a small smile playing on his lips. Under the pale morning light reflected off the pool, Sansa noticed just how handsome he really was. Her eyes shifted lower to his broad shoulders exposed above the surface. As she looked at him Sansa could feel his own eyes doing the same, roaming over her pale shoulders and the tops of her breasts.

Sansa closed the distance between their bodies. She felt his hands beneath the water, one warm and one cold, reach out for her hips, drawing her even closer. Sansa, understanding his intention, wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, allowing him to hold her as he treaded.

"Sansa," he breathed against her neck. She clung to him as he shifted her over, freeing his right hand. Sansa felt his fingers lightly brush over her back, sending tingles down her spine. He ran his hand up to her face, cupping her cheek as the water ran down.

"Look at me."

Sansa pulled slightly away, giving her room to stare back into his emerald eyes. She could see the desire as his thumb ran over her lips, leaving behind droplets wherever it touched.

"This wasn't supposed to happen. _You_ weren't supposed to be like this and I—"

"I don't care, Jaime," she whispered back.

Before he could respond, before he could push her away, Sansa stopped him with a kiss. She felt him tense in surprise before relenting. He kissed her deeper than Sansa had intended, now reaching down for her back, arching it forward, bringing her closer as heat raced through her body despite the freezing water. Sansa reached down, feeling his hard abdomen flex at her light touch. In response Jaime hoisted her up higher as his desperate kisses spread to her neck and chest. And Sansa kissed him back in a way that only her body understood.

Sansa, never breaking their kiss, reached behind to pull at the laces of her corset, letting the paneled silk break away from her chest. Jaime ripped the corset away, sending it to a far corner of the pool as his kisses traveled lower to her breasts. A moan escaped from her lips as the fire spread.

Jaime pulled back slightly, his eyes now filled with concern. "Are you sure?"

Just as before, Sansa answered with a kiss. As their bodies intertwined Jaime pulled her towards and through the deafening waterfall until they could go no further, hidden and unheard from the world.

* * *

 _Again, thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I just wanted to address something real quick before somebody asks. No, I did not and will not be putting in any explicit sexual content or scenes. This isn't because that never happened, it clearly is implied in this chapter's last paragraph. My reasoning is that I personally do not feel comfortable writing those scenes, nor would I do it any justice. My whole intention from the beginning of this story (my first every fanfic) was to develop a romance between these characters without the typical, Jaime instead of Tyrion, arranged marriage. I didn't want the characters to sleep together three chapters in and have a story based on that. That being said, feel free to make any comments, requests, and critiques! Thanks!_


	21. Chapter 21

_I apologize if this chapter is a bit slower, it contains one very important conversation that is necessary to the story!_

 **Chapter 21**

"Did you enjoy your swim, Ser Jaime?" a sweet voice sang out from the door. Jaime turned, dropping the towel he had been using to dry his hair. Jaime was dressed only in fresh trousers, he had yet to don his tunic and breastplate. He spun around to see Margaery striding towards him, clearly not embarrassed by his indecency.

"Hasn't your septa ever told you that it isn't proper to enter a man's room uninvited?"

Margaery shrugged, smiling coyly. "But you wouldn't deny your queen, would you, Ser?" She sat down on his bed, absently twirling a deep chestnut curl around her finger. "Besides," she laughed, "I'm not here for you. Just hours before my wedding day!" Margaery gasped in mock astonishment.

Jaime rolled his eyes at the "innocent" future-queen. There was nothing child-like about her, from the way she dressed to her manner of speaking. "If you're not looking to get fucked then I suggest you either leave or help me." Again, Margaery mockingly gasped at his word-choice. But he knew that there was no true danger, the pretty rose herself seemed to admire having a match to her games.

She rose, curls bouncing, to hand Jaime his tunic. He watched her eyes roam obviously over his bare chest before pulling the silk over his head. "I think you know why I'm here," she said quietly.

 _The girl certainly likes her games_. "No idea."

Margaery smiled, holding up his breastplate. "I know about this morning."

Jaime held his breath, his body tensing. "If you saw—"

"What I saw is no concern of yours. It's what I _know_. What my grandmother knows. And we want to help."

Jaime turned to face her in shock. Margaery continued, ignoring his reaction as she reached up to buckle his breastplate. "My grandmother knows that no good will come from this match with Littlefinger. He's far too clever to be allowed such a pawn in this game." She stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder until she stood by his ear. "You must get her away tonight, Jaime. After the feast. I am afraid that it is already too dangerous, but we must try. The plan is rather precarious, you see. There are many pieces involved, and not everyone will be glad of the outcome. And if one were to fail…"

He answered her questioning eyes. "I will not fail. I made a promise long ago to the Stark girl."

Margaery smiled, squeezing his arm. "We know."

She turned, hips swaying as she walked away. "Oh, and Jaime," she called, not looking back. "Make sure she wears the blue necklace." As if sensing his confusion, she added, "Don't worry, she will know the one."

* * *

There was a soft knock at her door. "Come in," she called. Sansa had just finished re-curling her hair in preparation for the ceremony. Fear coursed through her as loud footsteps approached. _Please, not Littlefinger_.

"It's nice to see you so soon, Lady Sansa." Relief washed over as she recognized Jaime's playful voice. She turned to see him, now donning gleaming golden armor to match his hand. He was grinning as a light blush spread helplessly over her cheeks.

"As am I, Ser Jaime." Sansa curtsied, playing along despite her embarrassment. She had worried that their next meeting would be rather awkward, but Jaime seemed his normal self.

"I just wanted to make sure you were ok. That you're feeling alright." His grin was gone, replaced by genuine concern.

"It hurt a little," she started, and saw a worried look cross his face before hurriedly continuing. "But that was to be expected. Everything else…it was perfect, Jaime. You were perfect." Sansa walked up to him, pulling is face down to meet hers with a tender kiss. "Perfect," she breathed out, earning a satisfied chuckle as Jaime wrapped an arm around her waist, tickling her ribs.

"For me as well," he sighed into her hair before releasing her. Jaime stepped back, appraising her.

"It's for the ceremony," she said, looking down at her lilac gown.

"I suits you, my lady. But where are your jewels? Perhaps a nice blue"

 _My jewels_? Sansa glanced up curiously. _Since when did he care about such things?_

Jaime responded quickly. "It's just that with nothing to distract me…I can't help but do this." He stepped towards her, lightly peppering kisses along her exposed chest. Sansa giggled at his playfulness, swatting him away.

"Ok, ok, I'll put something on!" Sansa rummaged through her vanity before spotting a flash of blue. She upturned the vial, letting the contents spill into her palm. It was the strange gift she had received along with the dagger so long ago.

Sansa walked over to the looking glass and watched as Jaime approached from behind, taking the pendant from her hand. He gently swept back her hair, exposing her neck. Sansa remained perfectly still as Jaime silently did the clasp, lowering the jewel to settle between her breasts. From the looking glass she could see as he lightly kissed her exposed neck, sending sparks racing to every finger and toe.

"There, now you're ready." He stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back. "Now then, Lady Sansa. Would you care to be escorted to this _wonderful_ display of true love?"

"Jaime, you know it wouldn't be proper to be seen walking in without my…husband. He is surely waiting for me."

Jaime sighed, jokingly with only a whisper of true disappointment. He held out an arm. "Well, my lady. Then I shall escort you to your door."

Sansa nodded before taking his arm. For just the few steps between the far wall and the door, Sansa could take pleasure in their short-lived fantasy.

* * *

 _Thank you so much for reading, I truly appreciate every follow, favorite, and review. It inspires me that much more to write so quickly. The story is nearing its end, unfortunately. Please let me know (after I post the last chapter) if you think I should write a sequel, start a new story, or maybe even continue this one in a part 2. Just something to start thinking about!_


	22. Chapter 22

_I'm sorry for not updating in a long time, I just was so uninspired to continue and felt stuck, but hopefully I can wrap this story up for you guys. I started a new story that I'm updating almost daily if you want to check it out, that's what I've been working on instead of this one. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter and don't forget to review!_

* * *

 **Chapter 22**

Littlefinger was quiet during the feast, only speaking when necessary. He watched the crowds and the king, the new queen and the old, and he watched Sansa herself. She kept her back straight, eyes staring ahead as he watched, his hand planted firmly on her thigh beneath the table. His fingers squeezed and Sansa shuddered.

"Ah, the entertainment has arrived. I want to see you looking, Sansa."

The entertainment was a troupe of dwarves, reenacting the War of the Five Kings. The little men paraded around the makeshift arena, their actions and words a falsely grotesque version of the history in favor of the king. Sansa looked, as her husband bid, but did not watch. She did not hear.

 _Clang_! The sharp noise broke through her veil to reveal Tyrion, on his hands and knees, crawling towards her section of the clothed table. Although she had not been paying attention, her body understood and lowered itself in search of the fallen goblet. The dark gold flashed under the golden light and Sansa reached, emerging from the table. She could hear, so clearly now that it was silent, Littlefinger's disapproving click.

"Here," she muttered, handing Tyrion the cup. Sansa settled back into her chair, settled back into Littlefinger's grip.

Sansa resumed her oblivion until another noise, one far more terrible, brought her back. _He's choking_. Joffrey scrabbled at his throat, screeching and hissing. She watched as the king fell, as Cersei ran to her son, calling and screaming for someone to help. The crowd stood as one, blocking the purpled king.

"The king! The king! He's choking!"

"Get out of my way!"

"Poison, it was poison!"

Their whispers transformed into shouts, their walks into runs as all hell broke loose. There were screams and cries but most of all the thundering of a thousand feet fleeing the sight. Littlefinger ran forward, disappearing into the crowd just as a sweaty hand closed over her mouth.

Sansa squirmed and bit at the hand—to no avail. No one turned amongst the chaos to see as another hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her away and behind the great tent.

"Shh, be quite, girl. I'll not hurt you," a gruff voice said, placing her down on the grass. On this side of the tent the chaos was even worse, just dark shadows leaping and fighting behind the great silk wall.

"Don't scream," the voice warned before removing its hand. Sansa turned to see a hard-looking man, his once handsome face now lined and brown. She looked down. Imprinted on his silver breastplate was some kind of fish.

"You're the Blackfish," she breathed out. "My uncle."

The man nodded. Sansa looked more closely this time and could make out his clear Tully blue eyes, so much like her own. _Like my mother's._

He stepped closer, grabbing her shoulder. "I'm getting you out of here, you're going home. We don't have much time till they notice you're gone. Run up to your room, grab whatever you need, then meet me by the docks."

His words repeated over and over in her head. _Home, you're going home_. But she had been promised this once before, and every desire she had was clouded by doubt.


End file.
